


pride

by TheOnlyHuman



Series: arkhos [3]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, BAMF Eret (Video Blogging RPF), Blood and Torture, Dadza, Dave | Technoblade and Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mafia AU, Or at least behaviours that are reminiscent, Thats a tag omg, They/Them pronouns for Eret, Toby Smith | Tubbo Loves Bees, briefly mentioned, but not really, dream and eret are pure besties lmao, eret scary when angy, eret wont be happy w that teacher when they hear of this, hacker george, he just got a mean teacher, i love bees so u do too, i love that, pyromaniac sapnap, sick wilbur soot, tommys failing english, tubbo and tommy meet in english class, tubbos our cute lil bee boi, tutor cliche, violence go brr lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:34:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27836116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOnlyHuman/pseuds/TheOnlyHuman
Summary: Tommy's not failing english, he's not,alright?And even if he was, he doesn't need a tutor.or,Tommy meets Tubbo
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Eret (Video Blogging RPF), Eret & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Eret & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit
Series: arkhos [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2029768
Comments: 107
Kudos: 909





	1. Chapter 1

If Tommy were to be asked what class he hated most in college, it would have to be english. He'd been forced to take it, much like the rest of the school, and was required get good grades on it or else the college would _'think about different options'_ , which essentially boiled down to they'd kick him out if he couldn't read right.

"Wait behind after class, Innit," his english teacher said one day. She was an irate little woman with wrinkly hands and snide eyes and too few laughter lines to compliment her ever drooping jugular frown.

He held a special dislike for this woman, the focus mainly welling up from how she seemed to single him out on the questions he didn't know the answer to and demanded the entire class call her _'Professor Jeins',_ as was her name.

But today he was on thin ice, especially since it was monday and he'd slept in after staying over for too long at the fucking _mafia_ office building on sunday night.

It had been a few months since he'd learned of his family's involvement with them and he'd grown quite comfortable. To be fair, Eret was fucking _cool,_ Sapnap could be _hilarious_ when he wanted to be and even Punz, honey enthusiast, was pretty alright. Tommy still had beef with Dream, especially since his lift incident had left him with sore legs for a _week_ afterwards. But otherwise, they all seemed to like him and he liked them.

Win-win, really.

Plus, Eret hadn't seemed to mind him being there; had in fact sat with him and scribbled at their own work sheets as Home Alone played in the background whilst computer specialist, George, debated with Wil over something at the dining table behind them. Dream had lurked in the corner the whole time like the weirdo he was.

By the time he'd got home it was well past three in the morning. He'd been bleary eyed and had decided he didn't need to fix his late alarm to an early one and it had bit him in the ass.

Point was, he'd overslept about half-an-hour too long. Techno hadn't woken him (too busy procrastinating some Uni project), Phil had left at seven AM again and couldn't have woken him and Wilbur had woken up with a hacking cough (at 8.54 AM, allegedly) and had called it a day and went back to sleep.

And he'd shown up to a triple english period late. Mrs Jeins (which sounded like _jeans_ but the woman got mad when you pronounced it like that; _"articulate the 'i', boy - Juh-i-ens."_ ) had not been happy.

Not that Tommy cared about how the old lady felt. He just kinda needed to pass the year and not fail everything due to a scuffed english grade.

He had a free period after english and decided half-way through the lesson that he could waste five minutes waffling to the woman about how his older brother had woken up _so terribly ill_. Tommy had already planned out a dramatic monologue about how he just _had to_ help him because that was what _good people_ did.

Once he'd decided on a heart-wrenching monologue, he spent the rest of the lesson working on it because believe it or not - he actually _knew_ how to do english, it was just the tight deadlines for homeworks he couldn't keep up with.

"Class dismissed," was the shrill call that rung over the tiered seating area at a little past 10 AM. Tommy practiced his patience as he watched everyone else file out of the small auditorium before finally shoving his laptop in his bag and walking down to the teaching podium Mrs Jeins was standing on.

Some other kid was there, nervously flitting back and forth. He clutched a notebook decorated with bee stickers in his arms, hugging the thing as if it would rescue him from the awkward silence where the teacher pretended she was busy writing up stuff on the board to guilt trip them both.

Brown hair, bright eyes, short; the guy didn't look like someone failing english. In fact, Tommy looked at him and seen a small thread of the same anxiety that sometimes left Wilbur clutching his guitar mid-song, stage fright a sudden ghoul amongst the chords. He almost felt sorry for the guy, to have the put up with self-centered Jeins.

"Ah, boys." Jeins decided to perk up after a minute, her most recent purple marker finding itself placed lovingly on the plastic rack. Tommy felt his hand clench the strap of his backpack and readied his speech. "I do hope you're both alright with what I've planned."

The other guy blinked the same confused blink Tommy did, which made him feel better. "Pardon, Professor?" He spoke up, voice all meek and shit. His yellow and black striped shirt, Tommy suddenly realised, was to imitate a bee.

"Well, seeing as Innit is, quite frankly, failing my subject, and you, Toby, are excelling, I thought the two of you could meet up after school and trade tips."

"Trade tips?" Tommy echoed, hopefully not sounding as exasperated as he felt.

"Indeed, Innit. You need a tutor. Toby here is just the boy for the job." Jeins' smile was sharp. She turned to Toby, softer and more gentle. "I'm sure you'll do brilliantly, Toby. I'll see if this could count towards Good Will points for our annual cup."

"Um, thank you, Professor." Toby smiled awkwardly.

"Good. Both of you, dismissed."

Outside the classroom, Tommy turned to the other guy. "I'm Tommy and you're not going to be my- my _tutor._ "

"Hi, Tommy, my name's Tubbo. I _will_ be your tutor because I actually kind of need that Professor to like me."

"Don't call her that," he frowned.

"Don't call her what?" Tubbo asked.

" _Professor,_ " he responded. "She's just a teacher."

He was rewarded with a slow blink. "But that is another name for a teacher?"

"Yeah, but she doesn't deserve to be called a _professor._ Not like she's all high and mighty." Tommy argued.

"Ooh, I get you," Tubbo nodded, pausing to bite his lip. "You do know if you don't let me tutor you she'll assign someone else, right?"

"So?" He prompted.

Brown eyes sparkled up at him. "And well, if you reject a tutor, they call home. For both of us."

Tommy would've made some snarky response that he didn't need a tutor anyway so the school could go stuff itself but then he looked into those big eyes and found something he hadn't expected to see.

He saw fear. And he doubted this kid was afraid of Tommy himself or even that teacher lady.

_Fuck,_ he mulled and resigned himself to his big heart of damn steel bleeding a little gold. He'd been around Wilbur for too long if he was getting all emotional like this.

"Alright," he eventually said. "I'll let you tutor me."

The kid immediately brightened. "That's great! What time do you want to meet at the library?"

"No library," he said. "I've got somewhere way better. Meet by the main gates at three?"

"My last class finishes at three twenty," the kid winced.

"That's fine," he shrugged. "I can wait."

And for once, he found he didn't mind the fact he'd need to wait.

_Eret won't mind,_ he thought, hoping so as he led Tubbo towards the huge skyscraper. Its just, they'd said that he could come round whenever and Tommy knew for a fact that sitting on the gaming area's beanbags was much more comfortable than sitting slouched over in the library.

At least Tubbo didn't seem to mind how long it was taking to get there. He'd been up for a walk, even if it was to be around thirty minutes long. He hadn't shut up either, talking and talking and then talking some more. The only good thing about all the rambling was the fact that he'd finally loosened his grip on his notebook. Now it swung by his side with his hands as he bounced around.

"I didn't even _know_ we had a Good Will cup!" The kid was saying, laughing along to himself.

"Sounds stupid, if you ask me." Tommy added, carefully steering Tubbo around a lamppost. The kid didn't even notice how close he'd been to a concussion, choosing to ramble on.

"How would they even decide who to give it to? I've never heard any of the other teachers talking about it. Do you think they know?"

"They'd have to, for it to be a thing," Tommy reasoned and stopped them both outside the building. "We're here."

"We are?" Tubbo questioned, quickly looking up from fixing one badge of many decorating his school bag straps. He gawked at the shining behemoth before them. "This is where we're gonna study?"

"Obviously," Tommy said, "Or I wouldn't have brought you."

"Woah," grinned the kid.

After one final glance at the guy, Tommy led them past the guards, Brandon Harding and Evan Centopani. Neither stopped him, used to his face by now, which he was grateful for. They took one look at him collectively before dismissing him as a threat altogether which was kind of creepy.

Tubbo didn't even get a second glance.

The nearly bald one, Evan, who was a former IFBB Pro and stacked like a living mountain, nodded to him. He was friendly as hell (and capable of a hella _good_ throw down, according to Techno) and it showed in both his kind smile and soft tone. "Heya, Tommy."

"Wasup, dude," he waved back, tugging Tubbo along. The boy made an awed sound at the sight of all the chandeliers and the pretty staircase and became even more of a deadweight than he'd been before.

Tommy sucked in a breath, popped open the bottle of sheer determination he'd buried inside his chest a while ago and powered on, dragging them both past the glaring receptionist woman. Wilbur had rejected her dating proposal a few weeks back and she'd taken the cold shoulder to the entire family since.

She gave him the side-eye and spoke with her nose upturned when the two were within hearing distance. "No Wilbur?"

"He's sick," he said, beelining for the gleaming silver lift before someome else got there and left him to make conversation with the lady from hell. Usually Tommy loved women but, _oh_ , not this one. "Real bad, super contagious. Coughing and shit, y'know?"

She paled. Tommy left her to fret as he jammed the lift keypad. The silver plate sparkled in the natural sunlight that wouldn't be around for much longer. It was getting into winter and the days were darker sooner.

The outline of the summoning button flashed blue. As the lift doors slid open, Tommy hauled Tubbo in, content to let the other make odd faces in the wall mirrors whilst he tapped the button for the penthouse.

The penthouse button was different from all the rest, punctuated by three uptick arrows instead of the numbers the other buttons had. The floor list above the door held floor _100_ in red outline and would until the facial recog programs recognised his awesome, very manly face.

_Shit._ He hoped the lift would still go up with an unidentified person in it. Eret had told him the code but he wasn't sure if he remembered it right and wasn't entirely informed on how many attempts he had to type it in correctly. The shame of returning to Evanette the Receptionist Bitch would be all-crushing.

The _100_ flashed blue once before lighting up green. He sighed mutely, basking in his win of not having to input the code while Tubbo decided the mirrors weren't all that fun anymore.

Floor numbers spun past the floor counter as the lift whirred upwards. Tommy pulled out his phone to check the time.

4.15 PM

"How long you got?" He asked very suddenly.

"Huh?" Tubbo perked up, turning to smile at Tommy. If he was a lesser man, as some said, he would've probably been given heatstroke. Or was it _'been blinded'_ _?_ "Oh! I can stay for as long as you're happy for."

" 'Kay," the 80th floor number pinged purple. Tommy nudged Tubbo a bit left to make room for the oncomer, to the right. Tubbo went easily, eyebrow raised a little bit. "We're letting someone else on," he explained, then, "We can judge it later. You have a curfew?"

"Nah," shrugged the kid. His smile turned teasing. "Do you?"

"Course not," he spluttered. "I'm a man. Men don't have curfews!"

The lift stopped at floor eighty and the doors opened to reveal BadBoyHalo. He wore a suit, unlike many of the ones that tended to hang out around Eret on a regular basis (the allowance to wear normal clothes meaning he was higher up the command scheme) although he enjoyed the perks of more than the one customisation. His shirt was black, his tie was red and black striped and he had a diamond-shaped (and possibly real) pin on his lapel.

The guy cut a striking figure. His black lipgloss was maybe one of the best aspects about him. Tommy was half sure he had something to do with health, according to Eret's brief introductions, though he hadn't talked to the man much outside of a few quick _hello'_ s.

"What's this about curfews and men?" The former air ambulance paramedic asked, smile lilting.

"I'm the man," Tommy said. "Bad meet Tubbo, Tubbo this is Bad."

"Hello, Tubbo!" BBH grinned, lips twisting up to reveal a joyful smile. "How are you?"

Tubbo grinned softly back, all shy and quiet now. "I- I'm good, thank you. And you?"

"I'm brilliant, thank you for asking!" Bad whirled on Tommy, expression suddenly serious. "What's this about Wilbur being sick?"

Far too used to the quick travel of information through entire floors within a matter of seconds, Tommy wasn't too surprised the guy was up in arms over an apparent health crisis.

"Nothing serious," he explained quickly, eager to get the almost _gleeful_ look off BadBoyHalo's face. "Just a chesty cough. He figured it'd be easier to stay home today than brace the smog."

"Smart thinking," Bad nodded approvingly. Tommy nodded along, trying to pretend like he wasn't pulling shit out of his ass. Wilbur fucking _owed_ him.

"Technoblade coming in later, still?"

Tommy shrugged, offering a grin to an awkward looking Tubbo to help him feel involved. "If he finishes up his Uni project, probably."

"Ah, to be that young!" Bad simpered and viciously spammed the 90th floor button until the lift slowed and backtracked a few floors before rolling to a stop. Apparently the lift had been designed for Eret in mind; capable of stopping just about anywhere and backtracking almost immediately.

"He's really not that young," Tommy protested to his sole listener, jabbing the penthouse button once more in case the lift got any ideas. "Techno's only like, twenty-three."

"Twenty-three's not that old," but Tubbo was staring at him.

"Techno's my oldest brother and Wilbur's the second oldest," he explained.

"So, what? You're the youngest?" Tubbo questioned excitedly.

"Maybe," Tommy pulled the vowels out on his tongue, leaning away from the other boy as he bounced on his tip-toes. "I don't think I like the look of that smile, dude-"

"Tommy!" Eret smiled at him as the doors opened up into the penthouse. Their hand which was hovering over the summoning panel dropped to their side, their skirt quickly swirling around the appendage and hiding it from view. Dream, for once, was no where in sight. Mega stood behind them instead, the mute wearing some German logo'd hoodie. "You've brought a friend!"

"Hello!" Tubbo volunteered.

"Hello, sweetheart. I'm Eret, they/them," they smiled, not seeming offended at all when Tubbo hesitated to grab their hand. They changed it up for a highfive and grinned almost victoriously when Tubbo tapped his palm against theirs.

"I'm Tubbo," the shorter brunette greeted. "Uhm, he/him?"

"Very nice to meet you, Tubbo," Eret returned. They cast a rueful look down at their thin gold watch. "Unfortunately I'm running late for a _very important_ meeting. I should be done in half an hour. That is, if you'd both like me to pester you?"

"Sounds good," Tommy butted in, knowing from the polite smile on Tubbo's face that the other wouldn't say anything. "We're going to be doing english homework, anyways."

"We love english," Eret joked and stepped into the lift when he and Tubbo got off. Mega followed behind, steps light as a whisper, and tapped in a floor number. Eret offered a little wave. " _Hasta luego."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the security bois are both bodybuilder youtubers :)


	2. Chapter 2

"So," Tubbo started after they'd both kicked their shoes off and dumped them by the side of the lift door. The wood was cool underfoot.

"You want something to drink?" Tommy began at the same time. They both paused, shared a look, and cracked grins.

"I don't think there's any orange juice here," Tubbo said, looking over the room that was deceptively small at first glance. Eret's official office was cool and a load bigger than their upstairs one, although the room (even _if_ it had a cool bathroom and a hidden bedroom) was nothing compared to the downstairs lounge-area.

"We got stuff downstairs, c'mon," Tommy turned towards the right corner, walking for where the fake wall panels split to slide apart into a doorway. Tubbo gaped appreciatively as he followed. "We can do this shit downstairs. You wanna sit on the beanbags or at the dining table?"

"A table might be better, for writing," Tubbo suggested quietly as Tommy took the spiralling steps two at a time. He'd seen Eret take three in one go once and that was his goal, although it had to be noted that his legs were not quite as long as theirs.

"Sure thing," he agreed, jumping the last step onto the fluffy carpet. A messy mop of black hair popped up from around the open fridge door. "Hey, Sapnap."

"Hullo, Tommy," the pyro smirked, popping open a monster can. He took a swig from it as his eyes caught onto Tubbo. "Who's this? No way in hell you have friends."

"Hey, fuck you! I have plenty of friends!" He shouted, stomping forth to menacingly swing his backpack onto the floor by the island. "Since you're being such an asshole you can make us our snacks."

"Ha, you wish," Sapnap snickered, trying to back up as he swung the smart fridge door shut. "Just ask the fridge for some ice, kiddo. It's not that difficult."

Tubbo tuned in, hopping up beside Tommy on the available barstools. "But I've never talked to a fridge," he pouted.

"Awh, shit," groaned the man as George walked into the room from upstairs.

"What's that for?" Snapped the hacker, brow creasing. "Maybe I should've taken Dream up on todays tor-"

Sapnap cleared his throat obnoxiously loud, drowning out whatever the brunette muttered. George opened his mouth to fire off another complaint before seemingly noticing Tommy and Tubbo. His jaw snapped shut. "Tommy," he said, voice almost pained. "You're here. And with a friend. Heh- Hello."

"Gogy," he grinned, unsure what all that was about. Probably some mafia business Sapnap didn't want George to talk about with Tubbo here. "Meet Tubbo, my friend."

"And english tutor!" Piped up the other.

Tommy spun on his stool, whirling to point at Tubbo. "You're not meant to mention that bit!"

"Oh," he deflated. "Whoops?"

Sapnap and George burst out laughing. Tommy went hot with shame, feeling his face flush.

"Wittle Tom-Tom needs help with english?" Sapnap howled.

"His native language!" George added, laughing so hard he sounded close to tears.

If Tommy were an anime protagonist, like those animes Technoblade watched, a vein would've popped in his head round about now. He also would've promptly beaten the two up, or won an epic battle of sarcastic wit.

Unfortunately, Tommy was blanking on the wit and his fist hurt from how hard he'd scrunched it up. His nails dug into his skin, likely to leave those little half-moon cmuttere as he sucked in a harsh breath.

So deep into his irritation, he jerked in shock when Tubbo laid a warm hand on his wrist. Tommy looked up, white noise drowning out the other two's laughter, and saw Tubbo's concerned frown. He gritted his teeth and smiled back before looking away.

He was okay, just annoyed. Just needed to breathe, maybe log onto minecraft tonight to harass Jack Manifold in a Hypixel lobby again.

"Just 'cause his first language is english doesn't mean he'll automatically be good at it," Tubbo declared, more confident and louder than he'd been all day. Tommy realised he was the type to stand up for others, not himself. "English is my first language too but I find it really hard. Especially with my dyslexia."

Sapnap and George's laughter died down. The four of them lingered in an odd silence, one where Tommy didn't see the glances shared between the two adults and the stone hard look of decision in Tubbo's eyes.

"Sorry, kid," Sapnap sighed, rubbing at his neck. His hand clutching his monster fell to his side, loosely clutching the drink. "My humour's a bit fucked today. What juice do you guys want?"

"Coffee," Tommy huffed.

"Yeah, no, Philza'd kill me if he found I gave _you_ coffee." Sapnap baulked. "No need to stunt your growth even more."

"There's actually no scientific proof that coffee stunts growth," Tubbo interjected.

George walked over and stepped around Sapnap to dig around in the bottom cupboards. Sap ignored him, glancing from Tubbo to Tommy.

"You want coffee too?"

"No," he said, fiddling with the notebook's wirebinder that was now on his lap. "I don't like it. I'd like some orange juice, please, if that's okay."

"I forgot kids other than Tommy actually had manners," George snarked sarcastically. He turned from the cupboards and dumped an armful of bagged sweets and crisps. "Take what you want, just don't eat all the skittles or the boss'll fit."

"The boss?" Tubbo echoed.

"Eret," Tommy clarified. "Eret's the boss."

"But they look so young!" Tubbo gasped. "I thought there was like an age limit to these things?"

"We're a bit unorthodox," George reasoned, plucking the popcorn bag from his dumped stash. He pulled it open and dug a few bowls out of the cupboards before filling one to the brim. He repeated the nag opening act with three others - a bag of doritos, cheezits and a pringles tube of sour cream and onion. "Have at it. Feel free take the bowls with you or work there. Sapnap and I have work to do but we can go downstairs, if you'd like?"

"You guys shouldn't have to leave because of us," Tubbo argued. "We can stay on these stools, if you want."

"Sure thing, kid," Sapnap said, placing a glass of orange juice in front of them both. "Enjoy."

He walked around the island and leaned over into Tommy's space. "Sorry, kiddo," came the apologetic, hushed whisper.

" 'S fine," he said, deciding to be the bigger man here. "I'll just sic Techno on you both."

Both men paled dramatically. Tommy burst into his cackled, high-pitched laughter. Tubbo joined in softly as the two adults edged away to claim the dining table.

"What do you want to start with?"

People that knew him well enough called him thorough. Others called him paranoid; well, people who looked at him and saw a colourblind man staring at a computer screen did.

Dream had said it was a good habit to have - to have the thrumming need for information on _people, anything, everything_ pulsing through his veins. Sapnap didn't care so long as he didn't look up his browser history.

(An act he had only done once and did _not_ plan to repeat. The dancing pandas and man-sized centipedes had scared him off.)

Usually, if someone brought someone else home it was because that person fit the archetype that they bought into. Phil had a tendency to adopt children with splotchy, traumatic pasts; much like how the boss had a leaning penchant towards sparkly and shiny things.

This general accumulation of things that were usually alike being collected by certain people meant that double and triple checking newbies and their pasts was a lot easier. However, seeing as George did not know what category of people Tommy gravitated towards he was left with a blank box in the chart. (But then, did the boss count? Because if they did, that meant Tommy befriended anxiety-filled, mentally scarred people).

Being left in the dark concerning this particular aspect was a hindrance. If only because George didn't know where to look first for Tommy's new friend.

He'd been sitting at the dining table for five minuted and was already halfway through quietly debating with Sapnap over whether or not the new kid was an orphan or neglected (although if anyone asked they were plotting out plans for some new mission in Oslo).

_Tubbo,_ claimed Sapnap. That was what the kid had introduced himself as, but there were no Tubbo's in anything birth certificate-wise. Evidently, that meant it was a nickname. It also meant he and his million dollar software had nothing to go on.

George was decent at interventions. Sure, Dream was better at them - but Dream had been _trained_ to intervene. George had not.

(If one ignored the first couple _very odd, very un-asked for_ meetings he'd had with Dream the first few weeks after he'd been brought into the gang.)

So, he stood to grab himself a refill of popcorn for the sole reason that Sapnap had decided to _conveniently_ complain very loudly about his appetite. George scowled at his friend whilst throwing him a wink and grabbed the empty bowl before stomping over to the kitchenette. Tubbo flinched minutely as he stormed over.

Tommy had claimed the pringles bowl and eaten half of them, glass of juice untouched. The other kid, on the other hand, hadn't touched anything. The brown haired boy sunk his shoulders to make himself appear smaller, eyes glued to the notebook filled with messy chicken scratch writing, hyperaware of him being there, probably.

George wouldn't be bestowed with the title of computer specialist if he couldn't analyse. His vision was pretty damn good too, with glasses at least.

Softly, tone gentle, he asked, "You guys need anything else?"

Tommy opened his mouth, likely to bemoan how little pringles he'd given them, but George shushed him. The blond pouted something fierce and slouched with an audible huff. Staring at the new kid and hoping it wasn't too off-putting, George smiled.

At the dining table, Sapnap started laughing before quickly shoving his face into his phone to pretend he wasn't laughing at George like he was some circus act. Rolling his eyes at his friend, the hacker offered the bag of popcorn in his hands, gesturing to the untouched bowl in front of the kid.

"It won't bite, you know." He joked, tossing some into his plastic bowl. "Do you not like the sweet ones? We might have salted somewhere around here, I know _someone_ likes it."

The brunette made a few harried gestures, waving his hands about within his own personal space bubble; never did he breach it. "Oh, no, I'm okay, thank you. I'm just not a big fan of it. Popcorn. Of popcorn. I mean- yeah."

"Alright, that's okay," he assured. "Can I get you anything else? Theres a _lo_ _t_ in these cupboards."

"Uhm, no- no thank you!" The kid smiled so brightly George wasn't sure if he was seeing light like he normally did.

Shrugging, he tapped pointedly on Tommy's full glass. "Drink up, kiddo. I bet you haven't drunk anything today and we don't want you pulling a Wilbur."

Tommy scoffed. "As if I'd do something so _stupid._ I'm a _real_ man, Gogy. I don't need to be told when to drink!"

"Sure," he snorted, pushing the glass further towards the kid with a long finger. "I'll let you tell Phil that when he gets back and sees you dehydrated as shit."

"I don't get dehydrated," the teenager proclaimed.

"Right, I get it. You plasmolyse like plant cells do, don't you?"

"I- what?" Tommy glared. "Stop using big words like Techno."

"Apologies, I forgot I had to play dumb around you," he joked before blinking as if he'd just realised something. God, he was a brilliant actor. (He'd sit down and realise neither had seen because he was wearing _glasses._ ) He turned towards the brown haired kid and tried pretending he hadn't noticed the flinch the kid shivered with at being addressed. "I don't think I caught your name?"

"This is-" he cut Tommy off with a hand in the face, smushing his mouth into his palm. George grinned down at him and threw a bit of popcorn into his mouth with his free hand, looking over to the other kid as Tommy flailed for a chance at retribution. " _Hw-_!"

"My name's Toby," explained the kid, beaming and regaining a little confidence at seeing how joking Tommy was being. "But you can call me Tubbo."

"Toby...?"

"Smith," said Tubbo, a little quieter. "Toby Smith. But I like Tubbo better."

"Nice to meet you, Tubbo," George offered up his kindest smile. "How'd you end up being this brat's tutor anyways?"

"Professor Jeins is strict," shrugged Tubbo. "It's alright, I don't mind. We're in the same class."

"Awh, cool. You two the same age, then?"

"I bet I'm older!" Tommy piped up. "April 9th, 2004."

Tubbo smirked. "23rd December, 2003."

The look on Tommy's face was hilarious enough that George choked on the kernel in his mouth. That set Tubbo off into muffled titters before Tommy was whinging loud enough to shake the Eiffel Tower.

"If you're done over there," Sapnap called to him. "I'd like my popcorn round about now."

"I'm coming, I'm coming," George gasped. Before he left he pointef at the two untouched glasses of juice. "Drink that or get water, I don't care which. Stay hydrated."

"Is that Phil I hear?" Tommy mocked, looking dramatically around himself. He turned to George and brightened almost comically. "Oh, Phil! I didn't see you come in. You're looking a little short."

"Har har," he snickered, ruffling the kid'd hair before grabbing the popcorn bowl and bailing out.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw//
> 
> cc a6d, torture, blood & violence

The lift doors peeled open, its inner white light spilling out into the basement. The boss stepped out, amber skirt a swirling myraid around them. Mega followed behind, quick to tap the button that shut the lift doors to keep the area as dark as possible.

Phil stood where he was, leaning against the far left wall but still within the circle of hubbub surrounding the chair in the centre. Dream was closest to the middle, Technoblade - who'd arrived mere minutes before the boss had - standing opposite him. Both cast menacing images, towering over the man slouched in the chair, neither more than a metre away.

Wisp and Kara from clean-up had claimed their corner, the one dead north that was chilled by the massive tunnel gates hidden there, hanging around the old railway tunnel entry in preparation for the inevitable mess that would leave them dragging a body bag down the secluded underground's underground.

George wasn't here but Fundy was, and their secondary hacker sat at the edge of one of three tables (although he was at the only clear one) with his laptop out, screen on dull as to not blind everyone.

The room was large, unwired LED lights hanging overhead simply for aesthetics, the only source of light the sparse fairylights BadBoyHalo had insisted on. Those lights arched up multiple times around the warped iron door into the tunnels, christening it with multicoloured star-shaped lights.

There were three tables to be seen as soon as someone got out of the lift, the first horizontal and mostly empty (where Fundy now sat) and the other two vertical to the first (creating a spaced out U shape if looked at from a bird's eye view) filled with weapons, all neatly lined up and set in designated spaces, numbered from A1 to A12 all up to D12 on one, and E1 to H12 on the other. The lower the letter and number, the more it hurt if used properly.

Each and every crack was filled, the walls plastered with state of the art sound cancellers.

_Can't have upstairs hearing the screaming_ _; bad for business,_ somebody had joked once when Skeppy had first stepped in and gawked at all the soft foam panelling.

Having walked past Fundy and then the two other _rather full_ tables, the boss stopped a few metres from the centre of the action. Face blank, they clicked their tongue.

Dream lifted his hand and thumped the slouched figure in the head. There was a muffled sound before Technoblade grabbed the thick burlap sack and ripped it off the man's head.

Phil knew waking in an uncomfortable wooden chair with rope tied around you was not something that would be amusing. And yet, when the man opened his beady eyes behind cracked glasses, he chuckled.

Most people, upon seeing the glowering forms of a smiley face and a pig mask right beside them, did not laugh. Bathed in the darkness of the basement, the only light far off little specks that curved loops on the walls, surrounded by at least six others on the outer circle, no one smiled.

This man did both.

"What have I done to deserve this?" He asked, tone merry and calm like he wasn't sitting tied up in Arkhos' fucking _t_ _orture_ basement. The stats for who walked out of here alive that had been sitting in that chair were very low.

"State your name," Techno growled, pink snouted pig mask with white lensed eyes and his golden lip piercing creating a horrible promise for most that seen him like this.

Standard protocol was to wear masks whilst interrogating people, on the off-chance they were permitted to live. Although on cases where the boss showed up maskless, the person was ensured to end up dead by the end of the session.

In fact, at seeing the boss show up, a few on the outer rings had taken off their masks. Phil did too, seeing as he wouldn't be getting into any of the action. The black raven mask (an old halloween one, like many others) found its safe spot in his jacket pocket, the fabric foldable.

"You know my name," the man sneered, staring right at the boss. They stared right back.

"State your name," they ordered, voice cracking over everyone like a whip.

"Fuck you," the man declared.

A small smile split Eret's composure. At the smallest hand gesture, Technoblade took his cue and strode over to the tables littered with sharp, pointy and even blunt things.

Eret hummed, not taking their eyes off the smug man. "Let's start with G10, shall we?"

Technoblade took his time in selecting the baseball bat, slowly making his way back to the man. Sitting in the chair, hands tied behind his back, rope lashed around his waist and ankles, Phil knew the man had nothing to base this smug attitude off. He sure as hell wouldn't have it for much longer.

Dull denim jeans. Grey cardigan zipped up halfway over a faded red t-shirt. Floppy brown hair that fell no more past his ears than a centimetre. Looked like some low-level drug dealer. At most, a rackeetier.

Truth be told, Phil didn't care what the man's job had been. The sole problem was the fact that someone this insignificant looking had managed to piss the boss off so much that they'd shown up to watch his last few hours. And if he'd _really_ pissed them off, Phil doubted he'd be living for more than an hour.

"One," Eret called.

Techno settled back into his position to the chair's right and reared up with the bat, stance steady and secure. He swung it, whacking the man's head into his chest with the force of the first hit. There was a pained grunt as his glasses skittered away, landing a few inches to the boss's right. The crack spiderwebbed, crawling over to the other side of the rim.

Sometimes Phil wished he didn't have to watch this, wanted to tap out like Niki could, but he wasn't head of personnel for nothing. If he showed weakness here god knows who could find out and pin him down.

Men who didn't like blood didn't hang around long in the mafia. Everyone knew this.

"Two," came the grin.

Down here, buried under tonnes of concrete and rock, Eret was different. Here, with no flimsy office workers or shining glass windows, they were dangerous. Phil had never seen someone's personality change so much through a simple location change.

Maybe it was due to being closer to the Earth's molten core, where it was hotter and more lethal. Maybe it was the fact no one they didn't want to hear this, couldn't. Maybe it was just them letting steam out in the safety of a dark room with one exit leading out to old, damp tunnels and the other going up into their empire.

(Phil would say the tower was the empire's core if that statement wasn't so wrong. The core was down here, wrapped up between the old railway system routes Eret had bought soley for the long tunnels that could be accessed anywhere for people to be dragged through when they fucked up. This room was the _core_ , hidden behind iron warped doors and slim carbon fibre lift-gates.)

Whatever the reason, there were _vast_ differences between the Eret that sat up late doing paperwork and this Eret who laughed when a human's blood painted their floor. Even the Eret that sat down to meetings wasn't as cruel as the one Phil watched now.

"A6d," the man coughed up on the fourth hit. The back of his head was wet with blood that shimmered in the low lighting. "That's me."

Eret paused on the fifth number, mouth closing as their head tilted to the side, seemingly planning what to do now their fun had been stopped. Technoblade huffed, bat swinging down to his side now that the count had stopped.

"A6d," they repeated, testing out the word as if they hadn't expected it. Had the guy given a dud or just an unplanned nickname? "Do know why you are here?"

The guy took his time, carefully swallowing as he panted. His eyes fluttered, trying to focus on the boss as he answered. "No."

"Oh, that's not good." Eret perked up. Dream was moving towards the table before they'd even spoken. "Let's try D12."

The man in the green hoodie grabbed the bat with barbed wire wrapped around it, tossing it in his hands as he strode back. A6d watched, face tight.

"You could tell me," he choked, spit flying as he shouted. "Just say what I've done, you meaningless fuck!"

Phil looked to Eret in time to see their amiable charade drop. Now frowning, they looked ready to leave a man to drown.

"Five hits," they decided, letting Dream have at it. Instead of mainly focussing on the man's back and head as Techno had, Dream went for a more forward attack, slamming the barbed bat into the man's chest and whacking it down into his knees. A6d quivered, groaning in a high pitch as he took the hits.

Phil was impressed. Most people had started screaming round about now.

"Go pick," Eret gestured to Technoblade, who grinned maniacally. Dream finished up his five hits, shoulders bouncing, fitful energy surrounding him as he playfully caressed the barbed bat in front of A6d. The captive flinched, watching with squinted eyes as his own blood dripped from the wood and metal.

There was a reason why these two were Eret's immediate bodyguards; they didn't care about who they hurt. A while back Technoblade had been on anger suppression pills, now with Eret's keen eye on his work, he was off them, his cool downs now doubling as these sessions.

Phil picked at his nails, idling as Technoblade snatched up something from the table. He stopped beside Eret, showing them the crossbow.

"Perfect," they agreed, smile now back in full force. "What should we do it with today?"

Wisp called, "An apple!"

Techno turned to the table once more and came back with a crisp red apple out of the selection of objects that sat. Dream got a sneaky jerk of his bat into A6d's stomach before he stepped back. Eret giggled, rocking on the heel pads of their converse as they watched Technoblade place the apple on the man's head.

The fact the apple managed to remain on his head at all was amusing.

"No- ple-"

"Shut up," Technoblade commanded and stepped back, taking aim.

A6d whimpered, eyes scrunched shut. Even from his distance, Phil could clearly see the shakes of the man. Poor thing - his attitude really hadn't lingered.

Years ago, when a twenty-seven year old Phil had seen two fifteen year old kids on the street and had gotten to know them, and eventually adopt them, he hadn't imagined them growing up like this. He hadn't seen the little boy who introduced himself as Dave taking on the name Technoblade and smashing people's heads in if they so much as looked at his boss wrong; he'd never envisioned little Wilbur who clutched onto his orca stuffie to grow and take on a planning role for an empire that just kept _growing_.

He supposed it had to do with Eret. He hadn't known them when he'd taken in the twins, only falling into a dirty spot between two gangs two years later. Eret had swept in then, offering him a way out if he joined their fresh gang. They'd wanted to become a mafia, with a boy called Dream beside them who was two years older than the twins, nineteen to Wil and Techno's seventeen.

In the present, Technoblade settled himself into a nice stance and took a slow, meaningful aim. The apple was millimetres away from falling off the guy's head, his entire body shaking as if an avalanche had rocked the ground.

"On will," Eret chimed, voice sweet like candy.

Notched, aimed, leveled. The crossbow released an arrow, sending it hurtling forwards. With a crunch it speared through the apple, the extra weight toppling the fruit off the guy's head. A6d was pale and sweaty in the low shine of fairy lights.

"What do- what do you want?" He stuttered.

Eret glanced down at their watch. "I want your real name."

"I told you-" Dream cut him off with a sharp swing to the shoulder with his barbed bat. A6d groaned, voice shaking as tears pooled in his eyes. "Please stop."

"Pick out something else," Eret waved both Dream and Technoblade away. They stepped over the cracked glasses at their feet and leaned down close to the guy. "You know I know, so why don't you make this easy for yourself?"

A6d bared bloody teeth and spat at their chest. A bloody glop of saliva stained their white blouse. Eret blinked down at the ghastly patch and a thunderstorm went off in their eyes.

Phil blinked and there was a blade in the man's shoulder. Now A6d screamed, a short anguished sound that got louder as Eret twisted their gritted swiss knife in the meat of his joint.

"First you give me a fake name, then you spit on me?" Eret cackled, leaving the blade pushed in to its hilt in the man's shoulder as they leant back to start unbuttoning their shirt. It peeled off to reveal a chest of scars that told a story of the past. They adressed the room. "Someone go get me another shirt."

In the corner, Kara scampered off upstairs to raid the boss' closet as Technoblade reappeared, offering the large metal pliers the boys often used to pull out teeth. Eret looked at his suggestion and waved him away, doing the same for Dream's lighter.

"Alright then," Eret said in the silence. "We're on a time crunch so let's get to it. Vincent Agust, you are guilty of breaking three of Arkhos' rules."

"Rule One," _don't annoy the boss._ "Rule Two," _no new operations without the boss' approval._ "And Rule Three," _no human trafficking or prostitution._

Phil held back his wince, not at all surprised when the man was dead within the next ten minutes.

Eret yawned, mouth cracking open as they stretched out like a cat, arms reaching up above them. Their joints cracked nicely as they blinked the tears out of their sight. Dazed, they rubbed at their eyes, refocussing with a blink on the blobs of colour that were actually people in the stark light of the lift.

"Someone's tired," Phil smiled softly. "You getting enough sleep?"

"Mmh," they hummed, leaning against the supportive railing. A jerk wracked their body from the cold, the metal burning into their back and sending little shooting daggers up their spine. The pretty blue sweater Kara had grabbed them wasn't nearly thick enough for the chill of the lift rail. "I got a few hours last night. Pretty good, considering my reoccuring dream's back. Phantom pains included."

The three others in the lift either winced in sympathy or nodded along, each of them well aware of the trouble phantom pains were. Dream, who stood beside them, offered a small shoulder nudge of comfort. On their other side, Technoblade leaned closer to Phil.

"How's Wil?" They asked idly, eyes on the lift floor count as it span past.

"Coughing like hell," Technoblade answered, pulling his hair tie out of his pony tail to let it flow around him. Eret sometimes looked to him and wanted hair like his, such a rich and vibrant dyed pink that was naturally straight and silky. But instead, they were left with an untamed mop of half-curls and floof. "Wouldn't get out of bed, said his chest hurt."

"Ah, well," they shrugged. It was better the man sleep it out than brace today's thick smog. "He has more than enough holiday time saved up."

"I was thinking," Phil started into the comfortable silence. "Maybe I could joint book me and the boys out for a weekend? I thought taking a trip down to the Hogwarts place would be cool."

"Do any of you actually like Harry Potter?" Eret questioned, knowing full well none of them cared much for the fantasy series. "That time would be much better spent in somewhere such as Cuba, no?"

Phil lingered on his words. Technoblade snorted. "What's the catch?"

"I've got a contact out there, just need you to go out and meet her and make sure everything's running smoothly." They smiled. "Won't take more than an hour. The rest of the weekend would be yours."

Dream gave them the side eye. Technoblade, who had long left his cute pig mask behind in the basement, was watching them with a smirk.

"And what aren't you saying?" Phil spoke up. "Why can't you just call your contact?"

Caught out, they offered a serene smile. "You know how it is, a little bit of radio silence and people think they don't have to keep themselves in line."

"You think they're goofing off on the job?"

"Oh, I know so. All it'll need is a little surprise visit."

"Why don't you come with?" Phil suggested.

"I'm very busy," they replied.

"Even for Tommy?" Technoblade interrupted.

"What?" Tilting their head, they repeated their bodyguard's words in their head. What did that mean? "Pardon?"

"C'mon, it's obvious the kid idolizes you," Dream added his two cents. "I think you should go. A break from this city might do you some good."

They stared at Dream.

"Boss," he tagged on.

"Why have you done this to me? What's the point in sending people out to do my work if they drag me into it as well?"

"It could be a mini vacation," Dream was really pushing for this. "The schools break at Halloween for a week."

The thought was nice. A holiday with their family. Eret hadn't had a holiday in a while, always moving around Brighton - where the old HQ had been - and now remaining in the London tower. Did they want a break from smog and glass walls? Maybe.

Who were they kidding? Of course they fucking did.

"I'll think about it," they declared. Halloween was a few weeks away. If they had George or Fundy monitor the situation from afar then their visit may be able to be pushed back from the coming weekend, as they'd wanted.

Phil nodded like the respectful man he was. Technoblade and Dream grinned like two toddlers who'd been given cake, sure in their win.

Eret rolled their eyes and privately remarked that they probably could push back the wanted check up date to Halloween.

The lift doors opened into the penthouse's second floor. The sound of Tommy shouting echoed up from the lounge floor.

Phil deflated like a pincushion as Technoblade sighed. Dream smothered his wheeze.

Eret stepped out of the lift and toed off their shoes, smiling to themself. "Let's go see what's gotten him all riled up, shall we?"

"Nothing good," Phil grumbled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> didnt mean to focus just on the basement but eret spoke and i had to listen.
> 
> can we tell i like bloodthirsty eret lmao
> 
> also, didnt mean to torture a6d it just happened sorry if offended


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tommy's tired of his english teacher like im tired of my drama teacher...
> 
> tws// implied/mentioned child abuse, foster care, trauma, death, also swearing because tommys in this what do u expect :)
> 
> poggers

"Everything alright down here?" Eret dared to ask as they stepped onto the first floor. They blinked at the sight of papers everywhere, what looked to be an entire notebook ripped up and strewn over the floor.

Sapnap and George were safe in the dining room corner, Sapnap paying far more attention to the situation than George (whose face was practically shoved into his laptop) and looking all the more concerned for it. The brown haired boy, Tubbo, was sat on a barstool, calmly munching through a bowl's contents of skittles.

Tommy-

Eret looked down. Tommy was lying in the middle of the papers, starfishing or snow angel-ing, or something. He looked tired, face drawn tight as he frowned up at the ceiling. He didn't even acknowledge their arrival.

"Tubbo?" They called, stomach twisting horribly when the boy flinched and his head shot up to look at them. Eret offered him a smile and a thumbs up. "How'd your english lesson go?"

"Well, uh," the kid stuttered, eyes averted, fingers digging into his jeans. "Turns out Tommy's good at english?"

"Course I fucking am," the aforementioned boy huffed. His head lolled towards them, lips puckering to blow a scrunched up ball of paper out of his face. "I don't even need a tutor! No offense, Tubbo. If that damn bitch would just-"

The blond mumbled something under his breath. It seemed Eret was the only one who had the energy to spare on the boys, seeing as Phil had retreated to behind the island to boil the kettle and Technoblade had skulked over to the lounge area to flop on a bean bag. Ever loyal, Dream remained behind them, eyes smirking down at Tommy.

They gestured for Dream to take his entertainment into his own hands and lowered themself down beside Tommy, folding their legs under themself. Carefully tucking their skirt so that they didn't accidentally flash Tommy was a challenge but they needn't have worried; the boy closed his eyes for a few moments anyways.

"It's alright to not get straight A's in everything, Tommy," they whispered, tone soft as if sharing a secret. "English is a hard subject; you're not meant to be unduly _amazing_ at it first try."

"But I'm not bad at it," Tommy snapped back, volume equally as low. "I _can_ do it. I _do_ do it. The bitch teacher just doesn't give me extra time to upload the assignments and fails me if I'm even a _minute_ late handing it in."

"Have you emailed them for time additions?"

"Of course I have," Tommy snipped, bottling up his air, chest rising, before letting go of it in one big gush of a breath. Instead of the smile that usually adorned his face, there was a disgruntled pout. The sight spurred something cold in Eret's fingers, triggering them into a twitching fist.

The boy continued, now just sounding tired: "I could show you the emails saying I can't hand it in at the time or need a few extra hours - because apparently she thinks it's a good idea to set work directly for the next day even if we don't have english! But _no,_ you can't prioritize your actual degree - have to get that english homework done. She won't even give me extensions if I ask nicely!"

His voice had risen to a shout. Technoblade snorted from his sprawl on a bean bag and Dream was wheezing into his fist beside Sapnap, who'd nearly swallowed his own hand in order to smother his laughter. Phil, in the midst of spooning coffee beans into four mugs, laughed.

"Tommy asking _nicely?_ God forbid." He joked. "Is this that lady Mrs Jeins?"

"Hated her," Technoblade offered up. Eret glanced over to him, finding the man grimacing. "Old hag refused to let me sit a test after I'd missed it by being off sick. Failed me for that module."

"If I remember right she tried to do the same with Wil," Phil agreed, nodding along as the kettle boiled with a whine. "If he hadn't had a breakdown about it in front of the Headmaster she would've failed him completely."

Frowning, Eret returned their gaze to Tommy. Evidently this teacher wasn't a very nice woman; entitled and self-centred. _Mrs Jeins,_ they mulled.

"Bitch insists you call her _Professor_ Jeins. Like that'll do anything," Tommy scoffed. "I don't know how many times she's threatened me with detention for calling her _Mrs."_

Tommy went to the public college in the central schooling area. Last Eret had heard, there were many people vying for a job within said district. A vile little bug twisted in their chest, growing and pulsing with the discordant tone that resounded in their head. It was a feeling they hadn't felt recently.

_Anger_.

They'd almost forgotten they could feel it. Nowadays all they got was annoyed. It wasn't a nice feeling; a tight rope around their neck in a sheepish parody of asphyxiation. Their heart felt too small, lungs filled with water that sloshed around like molten mercury in a rolling tumbler when they breathed in.

Normally, they wouldn't condone anger. It hurt people, and Eret had been on the fist of anger much too often for them to ever truly forget. But then, normally, they didn't get this emotionally attached to kids.

_Tommy's different,_ they thought, looking down at the boy. He stared back at them, holding eye contact, eyes a dark, irritated cerulean hue but still sparkling with life. Tommy was different, a bright light in a mostly dark world.

Eret looked to him and saw light. They looked to the other boy, little Tubbo, and saw the angel's halo waiting to be pulled off his head. These kids needed protecting.

They needed to be safe. Required something Eret hadn't had for a short time (yet for them it had felt like centuries). That just meant they'd have to do it.

Not that they minded, surprisingly enough. These kids were different from the general mish-mash; not cursory and bland like those blank slate children that went to school to have chalk fill up their blackboards, words scratched into pannels as their minds were twisted and moulded.

Tommy and Tubbo were curious, innocent; they deserved a chance at a life not dictated by an out of date system that had been designed for obedience training and nothing else. If nobody was going to stand up and teach them both how to survive, they would. For these boys deserved the world.

(Eret knew this, the fact clear as day. And they hadn't even known one of them for longer than an hour.)

(Their papa had once said they had a keen eye for detail.)

"I wouldn't worry about it, Tommy," they said, stifling a sudden burst of manic laughter at how the adults in the room all froze, eyes shooting to them. Eret focussed their attention on Tommy, breezing a hand through his thick blond curls. "You get people like that in life."

Collectively, the room's adults sagged. They probably thought Eret was brushing the issue away, or simply didn't care. Well, it didn't matter what they thought, no matter how wrong they were with their assumptions.

Mrs Jeins wouldn't be failing Tommy. They'd see to that. (They only wished this issue had been brougut to their attention sooner. Who knew what could've happened if Tommy was properly encouraged to do something brash prior.)

Phil came over and eased a steaming mug of coffee into their lap. They thanked him as the man walked past with Dream and Techno's mugs, catching Tubbo's curious eye. Smiling at the kid, they tilted their head towards the relatively paper-free, empty space beside them and offered an inquisitive eyebrow wriggle.

Tubbo laughed, the sound a wind-catcher dangling in the breeze, a robin chirping at the first sign of winter berries, the rustle of dandelions shivering in the breeze. Eret beamed at him, their blood's furious boil slowing to a sated drawl as the kid bounced over and sat down beside them, smiling back.

"Did you get much done?" They whispered to the boy, leaning in conspirationally as to not interfere with Tommy's dozing state by their legs.

"He's actually very good at it," Tubbo shrugged, "There wasn't much to do with him. He spent most of it reading the texts to me, honestly."

They must've looked inquisitive, for the boy continued. "I'm dyslexic," he explained bashfully, back hunching, shoulders drawing up to make himself appear smaller. His smile took on a pained edge and suddenly Eret couldn't hear over the roaring in their ears.

Someone had hurt this boy. Someone had hurt him for being himself and now he was scared to open up and be who he was. Someone had been unjustly cruel to this little angel boy and Eret would not stand for such blasphemy.

"I'm dyslexic too," they found themself admitting, saying something they didn't often share. "When I was younger I could barely read. My parents thought it was the Swiss part of my papa showing through but it turns out I just couldn't read."

Tubbo looked up to them. His clear, oceanic blue eyes sparkled in the five PM winter sunset that lit up the penthouse. "Re- Really?"

"Yep," they assured, fingers kneading at their warm mug. "That and my dyspraxia mean that I can't write for shit. One good thing, at least, is that no one could forge my signature even if they tried."

That got a giggle out of the kid. "What's dyspraxia?"

"CDC," they said, extrapolating when the abbreviation brought no recognition. "A sort of motor control issue. I've got it in the finer aspects, like finding buttons hard to push through a shirt because they're small."

At mention of clothing, Tubbo blinked inquisitivly at their sweater. "You weren't wearing that earlier!"

"Got cold," they hummed, not exactly a lie. Standing down in the basement for Kara to come back with something had left them with goosebumps and a sore back. "Do you like it? I believe it goes very well with your bee theme."

"It's a good shade of yellow," Tubbo nodded along eagerly, chomping at the bit to get his words in but still deathly quiet. "I like bees," then, a tad more frantic as if he'd forgotten his lines for a play, "Your sweater's really nice."

"Thank you, Tubbo," they smiled, head tilting to take in how the boy's chin dropped towards his chest. Either self-conscious or afraid. Eret didn't want him scared; it left a bad taste in their mouth. "Although, I like your bees much better."

"Real- Really?" He flinched when he stuttered, the jerk a harsh turn to how meek he was. Eret bit their lip, free hand going back to running through Tommy's hair in order to calm themself. Tommy certainly didn't seem to mind it and it helped ground them past the ache of faded bruises around their ankles.

"Interesting things, bees," Eret agreed softly, gently coaxing the boy towards a rant or a lengthier sentence than that of a few words.s

_Let the kid speak, show him he won't be punished for speaking,_ they decided, slipping their fingers through their mug's handle to start sipping at their coffee. Coffee wasn't a usual drink for them, but they were tired today and needed to be awake past eight PM to finish off some paperwork.

Plus, basement sessions took a lot of energy out of them. It was too cold to sit down there, unless they were wearing a fully padded winter coat, and their dyspraxia made it known they were facing a challenge of keeping their balance if they got too tired. Standing for long periods of time whilst hyperfixating on something could most definitely be _more_ fun than it was.

Tubbo started, "They're amazing."

Sipping their two-sugar black coffee, Eret didn't respond. The boy poured words into the silence, babbling about pollen and bee lifetimes and their jobs in hives and in the world. He fiddled with a pin on his shirt of a glossy bee, the little animated-looking thing smiling up at them as Tubbo waxed poetics about how crucial the little insects were.

"If bees were to go extinct, so would we," explained the kid, deep into his rant. Tommy was half-asleep beside them, sleepily mumbling along at points. Eret themself was half drooped, relaxed by the boy's natural cadence and lively speech patterns. "They pollinate everything and keep the cycle of nature going."

"How do we feel about a movie?" Dream called from the lounge area. Eret blinked back into reality, the floor hard and chilled under them. Numbly, they wiggled their toes, watching their rainbow coloured socks move and sway with the action.

"Mmh, would you like to watch a movie, sweetheart?" They turned to Tubbo, heart pattering in such a way that could've been a heartattack when they seen the boy's shocked look. "Are you alright?"

The brunette didn't respond. Eret bit the inside of thier cheek. "If you don't want to, that's perfectly fine. I could call you a cab to get home, if you'd like, instead?"

"No, I-" Tubbo blinked twice, fingers prying at the edge of his bee badge. "I'd like to watch a movie, if that's okay?"

"Of course it is," they smiled gently. Rocking to their feet, they offered the stunned boy a hand up, which he took, before nudging Tommy with their toes. "Upsie daisies, Toms. The couches are much more comfortable than the floor."

The blonde grumbled as he sat up, slapping his cheeks to wake himself up. He grabbed the coffee mug they'd left beside him and handed it up to them upon their asking. Tommy looked up only for him to beam at the sight of Tubbo.

"Movie time," he grinned, bouncing up with renewed life to pull the boy into an arm-tugging drag. He led Tubbo over to the lounge area, quickly bypassing Eret, and was quick to claim one of the two couches for them both.

When they finally made it over to the carpeted area, they set their half-full coffee mug on the centre coffee table and made to drop onto the second couch beside Phil.

"Boss," George said before they sat. "C'mere."

Phil snickered at them as they sighed. On the beanbags, Dream and Sapnap respectively wheezed and cackled from their extra large green beanbag. Technoblade was the only silent one, seated on the single pink beanbag, obviously hyperfocused on the channel guide and picking a movie Tommy agreed to.

"Yes, dear," they chimed, pausing a moment to let their balance settle before striding over to the dining table. They hadn't realised how dark it was, the latter half of the room dull and shadowed. The only light was the bold glare from George's laptop, casting the man in an eerie ghostly state.

At their hacker's beckoning hand gesture, they rounded the table. When they stopped beside him, George turned his laptop towards them and tilted the screen up. It took their sleepy brain a moment to register the words past the sudden bright light but when it did, they found themself leaning in closer to get a better read.

It was a profile. One George had made himself, by the looks of it. It was of Tubbo.

More decisively; of _Toby Smith._

Toby Smith, it read. There were categories listing his age, closest kin, school, home address and much more. Eret was seconds away from whispering the question of _what do you want me to see?_ when they seen it themself.

_Residence: Elmsbrook Care Home,_ it said in big capital letters. _Twelve years. Adoption status: n/a._

He was a system kid. Parents had either been killed or been abusive and he'd been tossed into the foster system. At least, that explained his odd behaviour and general meekness.

Kid was traumatised.

They blew a breath out through their nose and rested a hand on the back of George's dining chair. "Fuck," they murmured quietly as Tommy settled on some Bond movie. Dream liked those movies; enjoyed laughing at their bullshit and corny lines.

"Couldn't have said it better, Boss," George sighed.


	5. BONUS CHAPTER

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Bonus job!_ Came the text. _Deal with discrepancy :)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next book will probably be the cuba trip,,, it might take a while to come but it will appear!

"How do you feel about a sleepover, boys?" Eret asked, _adoption status: n/a_ playing on their mind. "Perhaps, a movie marathon?"

Phil's mouth opened and closed, slowly turning to stare at them as they reclaimed their spot on his couch beside him. Technoblade hummed wordlessly with a hint of agreement but was otherwise immobile from his attentive viewing slouch as the Lego movie came to its final few minutes. Dream shot them a knowing look as Sapnap cheered. Tommy grinned and looked to Phil, who was still staring at them. Tubbo shrunk down.

_Are you sure?_ Asked the boy's gaze.

"I can make any calls necessary, if you'd like, Tubbo. I'm sure they won't mind so long as I get you back in one piece." Eret smiled, kicking their feet up to rest on the cusp of the coffee table. Their rainbow socks wiggled. "Of course, one of the drivers will take you both to school in the morning. What time's your first classes at?"

"Mine's at ten!" Tommy grinned, almost vibrating in place.

Tubbo squeaked, "So's mine."

"Good," they decided, pulling up their wrist to take a look at the time. 5.36 PM. They'd need dinner, so takeout was an option if someone didn't like this week's Swedish theme in the cafeteria. "Any colour preferences for pjs?"

"Red," Tommy was quick to pipe up.

"Pjs?" Tubbo inquired.

"You can't stay in your normal clothes," Eret hummed, careful to keep an eye on the boy's expression as they typed out a text to Kara. She should still be in- actually, she was probably tired from cleaning up Eret's mess in the basement.

They copied the text they'd currently typed and quickly deleted it. Niki had good taste - a big reason why they'd assigned her as their secretary - so they pasted what they'd written into a text for her and paused for Tubbo's preference.

"Oh," he said. "Uhm, yellow please?"

"No problem, sweetheart."

Tubbo bit his lip, eyes flicking between them and the flashing credits of the movie on the eighty-two inch tv. Eret finished up the text to Niki and sent it after spamming a few hearts.

Phil was still staring at them. He cleared his throat.

Eret turned to him, smiling. They stretched their lips out, tilting their head to the side and Phil sighed and nodded along.

"Any preferences for food? I'll order up a takeaway," they offered, seeing Technoblade tune into the conversation as the movie finished, advertisements playing. "There's a good chinese a few blocks away."

Tommy grinned, "I'm up for chinese!"

"Sure," agreed Sapnap. The pyro lunged for the tv buttons but was foiled by Technoblade snatching them up before he could grab them. "I think we should watch Netflix!"

"Not unless the kids want to, too," Techno smirked.

"I prefer DisneyPlus," Eret added, deciding they were in the mood for a bit of chaos tonight. "I think a Star Wars marathon would be fun."

"I've never watched Star Wars," Tubbo murmured, awkwardly picking at his sleeve.

"Then it's decided," they beamed, looking encouragingly over to Technoblade. "Star Wars it is."

"Alright."

As they settled back into the lull of conversation happening around them, they fired off a text to Punz to grab takeout on the return from his _detour_. Dream's stare was ignored, the prevailing _you're going soft_ hidden behind that smiling mask.

_I know,_ they thought and sent the orders for the english teacher's misfortune anyway.

_Bonus job!_ Came the boss's text at 5.43 PM, a sudden vibration in his pocket to the chorus of the sun setting outside thanks to the curdle of winter's wrath. _Deal with discrepancy. Get usual chinese takeout after xx_

Sometimes Luke (though he preferred the nickname Punz over his boring birthname) looked at the boss's texts and wondered if they really were a multi-billionaire grossing millions of dollars, pounds, yen (they dabbled in all forms of money) a day.

Why? Simple: the mafia was groomed, proper and precise; Eret was not.

Eret was chaotic, charming and ran five minutes (minimum) late to everything. To look at them and call them a mafia boss was not something many would believe true. Punz himself had glanced at the person who'd taken over the small street gang he'd started out in and had wondered what sort of Don looked like _that._

Because they were pretty. They had style. They didn't wear suits all the time, like those fat men in the tv shows, and they didn't wear long dresses that split up the middle with excessive lipstick and bright blusher. They weren't arrogant and snotty or a spoiled brat who was used to getting their way.

In fact, if there was a word for Eret it had to be _laidback._ Never before, unless there was a very important meeting with someone to impress, had Eret been seen in anything other than converse shoes, a frilly skirt or a shirt of some sort. Sometimes they wore jeans, but only when it was raining like a hurricane was battering down on the country and they had to go outside.

At a time, this had all been fed to them from the grape vine that stemmed from Brighton HQ. And then, that had changed.

Like most within the London sub-set of Arkhos, Punz had been surprised when it was announced the HQ was being moved from Brighton. Sure, from a business perspective, it wasn't at all shocking, London was the capital and all, but from a _'the boss likes Brighton'_ inside view, it was odd.

Anyways, the move had allowed the lot of them to see the boss on a more regular scale (and his first impression of them being pretty hadn't faltered, especially not when they'd came round and greeted all the small timers who had been sucked into Arkhos thanks to the power vacuum they'd created in moving bases). The transfer up to London meant a lot of the higher ups had to move to be closer (because the boss liked to keep friends close) and it also meant Punz actually got to see Eret on a somewhat regular occurrence.

The grape vine had proven true. Eret really never wore anything other than comfort clothing unless something big was happening. Even then, it wasn't to be bet on that they'd show up dressed to the nines. They were stylish and they knew it. And half the time, they didn't really care.

Anyways, back to the text. The boss texted like a teenage girl. Punz hadn't noticed until he had and now he had a good smirk at every emoji they sent accompanying death orders. It was funny, Punz decided. Because if it wasn't funny it was just weird.

He hadn't worked with Ponk much, but George had sent him a linked file with the information and that stated the job was a two man gig. Usually, Punz wasn't on the roster for racketeering but this wasn't that - this was a fear ploy.

Punz was good at scaring people. Apparently, Ponk was too.

From what he knew, Ponk was a half decent guy. Plus, smashing doors down with him was definitely going to be far better fun than listening to the receptionist lady - _Evanette was her name? -_ warble on about how someone, a certain _Wilbur Soot_ , was ignoring her and now 'fatally' ill.

Ponk was a part time nurse. Or, he had been; before his clinic had shut down and he'd been lugged into the field of gangs and fighting. He would've probably been one of the higher medics, if he would've kept with it and not delved into the art of swinging bats into people's faces.

The guy was a little _too_ muscular for a medic anyway, Punz reckoned.

"Hello, Punz," the other greeted warmly, voice kind and soft. The guy was one of those paradoxes where he looked ready to murder you with a pinch of his fingers but was actually really fucking nice and had the personality of a puppy. "I got the email. Do you have everything you need?"

"Yup," he answered, crowbar securely hooked onto his belt under his jacket. He had a gun under his jacket, in an under-arm holster, just in case something went real wrong. "We ready to go?"

Ponk nodded along, pulling leather gloves onto his hands as they walked north of reception, into the long hall, and stepped into the cavernous pit that was the pseudo-maintenance cupboard.

To call it a cupboard was deceitful. Especially since a cupboard was probably defined as some sort of box-like room and this room was pretty fucking big and spanned at least three floors. It had old metal stairs that led down to a secluded section of the underground tunnels that this place was rigged up on.

The two men took their time trumping down the steps, confident they'd be into the old subway by half an hours time. The exits would bring them out onto an old side street that was more of an alley nowadays. From there, they'd take a walk down to the quiet prissy neighbourhood this lady Jennifer Jeins lived in.

Punz didn't like associating names with faces. Made them too real. The file had said her full name though, which although common, was marked in bold.

That meant the boss _really_ didn't like her and they had to check they were gutting the right person before, well - before they _gutted_ her.

Whatever this snobby english professor had done to piss off the boss was enough that him and Ponk had been sent off to make her piss herself before she kissed the floor. It was also a little earlier than usual, seeing as most fear wraps came along upwards of 10 PM. It was nearly 6 and that alone said she was to be dealt with real quick.

It was winter too, so it got darker earlier. Deep in the middle of summer they'd never be able to waltz into an uppity neighborhood and shank somebody.

(That was a lie; Eret had enough pull that anything could be covered up. But still, that didn't mean they made a habit of shoving their weight around.)

(Anyways, the rich were easily kept quiet. Too afraid of having their fortune tugged out from under them. It went vice versa for the poor - they were kept quiet with a little bonus tip. In his old gang they hadn't had much money and so killings had been the way to keep people quiet, but with Eret came a fortune untold and cheques slipped into hands behind closed doors.)

Punz liked walking down here. The tunnels were long and echoed with every water droplet that dripped and every voice that whistled. There were rumors the boss had bought the entire network solely for the fact the tunnels spanned nearly the whole of London, and that was probably true.

The place was a literal maze, old railway lines sunken under a good metre of water wherever you went. There were the heightened walkways along the tracks; currently unflooded, those were what people walked on. If a storm hit London the place was fucked, the tunnels would be drowned and the iron wrought gate separating the large system from the basement would have to remain closed until men got down there and drained the tunnels.

But the pros of having access to the old subway far outweighed the cons. In Punz' opinion, the fact he could travel to work by jumping down into a formerly sealed underground entrance and walk a kilometre to work was pretty cool. It also saved him from those fucking high bus fees. Most people used this method as it was an extra layer of security that was provided, keeping their ties with the mafia secret.

Sure, Arkhos was one of the biggest mafias in London's history but there were other gangs, a little more angry, a lot more stupid, who weren't afraid to swing a bat at their people's heads. There'd been people before, a few innocent secretaries, a few boys fresh out of school, a few wrong place-wrong timers who'd been walking around the wrong street a little too late at night and had been killed a little too soon.

Those had stopped real quick though, after the boss had found out. Eret had called some big meeting and according to Puffy (who'd been on the crew they took with) they'd scared the shit out of the Unus Annus faction. There was a fragile alliance between them now and their people had stopped dropping like flies.

"It's Halloween in a few weeks," Ponk started halfway into their walk, when he'd evidently gotten bored of listening to water drip. "Do you have any plans?"

Punz looked up from the dark never-ending tunnel and glanced to his muscled buddy. "To what? Dress up? Nah, not really my thing."

"Not even for the office party?"

The fucking office party was essentially a clubbing night out. Sometimes the boss went along with it and went with, which apparently resulted in entire nightclubs being rented out, and sometimes they left their employees be. From what Punz had heard, they were good times. The only rule was that you had to dress up.

"Depends," he decided, tapping a tune against his crowbar with his nails. "Might go if I find my fridge low on beer."

Ponk chuckled and nodded along, happy to carry conversations. "There's a few whispers the boss will attend this one. That'll be their first Halloween party in London. I wonder which club they'll rent out if they do come."

He babbled on: "It would have to be big enough to let in everyone who wants in, maybe one of those newer builds. I heard they're good, that one on fiftieth sells good cocktails. Well, that's what Alyssa says so I'm not too sure."

It took less than twenty minutes for them to come to the crossroads where the grate up to the surface was. B-192, this one was called, numbers printed onto the greasy wall in large block paint. By every grate was a lamp - a fancy name for a cracked glowstick slipped into a cylinder-like holster screwed into the wall - and the dull blue light lit up the slippy metal ladder just enough for people to avoid broken legs when climbing its bars.

Punz checked the time before nodding to Ponk. They stood around the ladder for a moment, listening to make sure there was no one in the alley they were about to emerge in.

Water dripped. Sirens wailed in the distance. A spider crawled over the glowstick, a small bodied thing with long legs that cast the light into flickering patches as it quickly scurried over the glowing stick. The glowsticks were mass produced in one of their factories in Sweden, a bulk lot often shipped over to them solely for the tunnels. They kept glowing for a good week and a half, the chemicals inside saturated in a way the normal customer-bought ones weren't.

Ponk shifted to his right, pulling on his white and orange stripped balaclava. Instead of the usual black base colour, Ponk's was a deep red. The fabric was softer too, less wool and polyester, more cotton stitched with some flame resistant fibre. There was a mask around his mouth and nose, under the fabric, so that the outlines didn't jut through, and the eye cut outs were neat and perfectly aligned for a sleek, silver-glinting snowmask to cover them.

He was a sight, balaclava and snowmask, a thick wooden baseball bat decorated in masking tape of different colours held in his large hand. His leather gloves were black and well worn, squeaking as he squeezed the bat, readjusting his grip on the taped handle. Ponk had a habit of wearing grey jeans and a thick leather jacket, worker's boots sturdy on his feet. If he dressed up in a suit he had the bulk to look like one of the door guards.

Smiling at him, Punz pulled his trusty fingerless woolen gloves onto his hands and rucked his fingers along the bredth of his crowbar.

As a boy he'd been a fan of archery and that had turned into an appreciation for the comic book archer Green Arrow. Thus, he wore the gloves and a deep black hoodie. His silver-tipped hair was hidden under the thick leather-sewn hood, the main body of his hoodie a patchwork of leather on the front, back and elbows. Most people thought it was an attempt at fashion but Punz kept it because the leather had saved him a few nasty cuts in those exact places before.

Hood up, he pulled the fabric facemask over his mouth and nose. Everyone who went out on the streets with orders to kill had to wear masks, least one of the few unpaid cops see their faces. The boss had nearly the whole police force in their pocket except for the Commissioner, Dan Diamond (known as Dan TDM - The Damn Mongrel - around the city, thanks to his addition of over thirty police dogs to the force). The fact Diamond wasn't in their pocket meant that if his sub-set of loyal men were patrolling, who were numbered in the single digits, anyone who was caught maskless was fucked.

Because a mafia underling who was caught by the Commish was definitely going to jail if the boss didn't get to them in time. If they wore masks out on the streets, which was illegal anyways, they alerted the paid-coppers to who they were. (And the boss pulled enough strings that the paid boys were usually the only ones on the streets past 5 PM.)

The paid ones got too much money slipped into their bank accounts to even think about arresting marked men. It was only about nine or so ones they had to worry about, Commish included.

Overall, wearing masks was much better. The fear rate they provided boosted their intimidation and told people they were serious.

But, because wearing masks was generally illegal, the boss had made a rule that they were only to put on the masks once within a suitable distance. Ponk and Punz had stopped at the grate within a block's distance of the prissy neighbourhood and all they had to do to get there was stroll down a backalley and up the road, so they'd taken the decision to pull on their masks before they climbed out of the tunnels.

"Need a hand?" Ponk called down, already having shifted the grate and climbed up and out. Punz grunted an affirmative and was lifted the final two bars out.

This guy's strength amazed him. He clapped the guy on the shoulder as he got steadied on the ground.

"Thanks," he said, rolling his shoulders out. "We ready to go?"

"Yep," chirped Ponk, already peering out the alleyway. He checked his phone, double tapping the police scanner George had made for them. "No cops in a decent radius."

"Good," Punz agreed and together they stepped out onto the road.

The neighbourhood was one of those poshy ones. It was one Punz had never stepped foot in to do anything other than beat somebody up. And usually that was all they did around these parts, because mafia or not, rich people could pull weight too.

Jennifer Jeins was certainly not rich, though. And so, killing her wouldn't bring down anyone on them. The IT department made sure of any background ties that could be present wouldn't affect Arkhos if someone was murdered. An old gang had been taken down like that, when some hag they'd gutted in the middle of the night turned out to be related to some celebrity in Hollywood's pocket and the guy hammered his law team down on them.

The houses arched in some twirl, lining up in a perfect half-circle that was allowed out here in the suburbs where there were no city grids to follow. Each terrace was kitted out with its own fenced garden and long drive. Halloween decorations were up for a few houses, the lights on in most rooms. A middle class family-attracting housing estate, then. Though the people still had enough money to be snobbish.

"Thirty-seven," Ponk said, voice low and hushed as both men strode down the middle of the empty street.

Thirty-seven was just as brightly painted as the rest, windowsill pots freshly planted with soft little berry plants. Every house was nearly identical architecture-wise and this one was no different, the front porch wooden and each and every pane of glass clean within their panes. The curtains were open, the lights on in the living room.

"I'll knock," Punz hopped the little prissy fence gate that barely came up to his hip and strode up the paved drive. Ponk followed after him, bat bouncing against his other hand's palm.

It took three doorbell rings before a wrinkled woman in her mid-fourties opened the door. She looked snide and peevish but her pronounced frown fell away for a look of terror as she glimpsed the two men on her doorstep.

"Arkhos would like to pay you a visit, ma'am."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THERE WILL BE MORE TUBBO CONTENT, DONT WORRY!
> 
> plus, because im mean, you dont get to see the rest of the sleepover, lmao
> 
> just know that they eat too much chinese and the boys are very nearly late to school the next day. eret is also scheming because they do be lovin that


End file.
